on it shaped for a lion', but looking more like a dog'; and as you entered the building, you saw a front entry', the paper torn and colored by the rain'; on your left hand was one room covered with a carpet, and containing an eight-day clock', reaching from the floor to the ceiling', and telling the age of the moon'; the other furniture passable'; but the rest of the rooms in a condition which I blush to name. There, in this stately mansion, dwelt my venerable sire', who might justly be denominated a poor gentleman'; that is, he was a gentleman in his own estimation, and poor in the esteem of every body else.

My father was a man of expedients', and had spent his whole life, and exhausted all his ingenuity, in that adroit presentation of pretences', which, in common speech, is called keeping up appearances. In this art he was really skillful'; and I often suspected then', and have really concluded since', if he had turned half the talent to procuring an honest livelihood', which he used to slobber over his illdissembled poverty', it would have been better for his soul and body both. He was a man that never told a liê, unless it was to keep up appearances.

I forewarn the reader that I am now entering on the tragic part of my story', and if he has sympathy or pity for mé, I hope that he will bestow it here. I know how hard-hearted the world is to such miseries', and I hope that none of my readers will be so unfeeling as to smile when they peruse this paper. Still, much as I value the sympathy of a kindred heart', I will not be so cruel as to hope that any of my readers have been taught such afflictions by experience. I hope that none who hold this book, have been reduced to the miserable necessity of tying up their pantaloons with packthread, instead of lawful suspenders'; of using a remnant of a pillow-casé for a pocket-handkerchief'; of sticking a bur on their rent stocking' to cover up a holè; and, after slitting their worn pantaloons on the kneé, when they had got half way to meeting on the Sabbath', of being obliged to tie a pretended pocket-handkerchief over a pretended wound', seeming to be lamé, and perhaps before they had walked ten rods', forgetting in which leg the lameness was seated. Nò, these are the incommunicable sorrows of mē, of mē, the sad hero of a sad family'; the prince and heir-apparent to the ragged generation. To me, and to me alone, was reserved the awful destiny of being invited to a party', where

were to assemble the first beauties of a country villagè-not daring to go until evening', lest the light of heaven should expose a threadbare coat-having no clean shirt'—not even a dickey, which had not been worn ten times-supplying its place with a piece of writing paper-afraid to turn my head' lest the paper should rattle or be displaced—and then', just as a poor wretch was exulting in the hope that the stratagems of poverty were to pass undetected', to have a lady', perhaps the youngest and most beautiful in the whole party', come provokingly near and beg to examine your collar', because she admires the pattern. Often has it been my lot to return home from the company, where all hearts seemed to bound with gladness', to water my couch with tears'; amid sorrows which I could tell to none', and with which nōne would sympathize. I thought it poverty. But I was mistaken. It was something else which begins with a P.

And then the awkward apologies to which one is reduced in such a situation', come very near to a mendacious violation of real verity. Oh, how often have I seen my honored father put to his trumps', steering between Scylla and Charybdis', adroitly adjusting his language so as to make an impression, without incurring a lie', and reduced to shifts by which none were deceived', because all understood them. Once on a time, after a week's starvation to procure a velvet collar for my father's best coat', we were sitting down to a dinner of hasty-pudding and molasses', when, unluckily', one of our neighbors happened to walk in without knocking', (a very improper act',) and we had no time to slip away the plates and tablecloth`; we were taken in the very fact. I never saw my poor father more confounded. A hectic flush

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passed over his long, sallow cheek', like the last sad bloom' on the visage of a consumptive man. He looked, for a moment', almost like a convicted criminal'; but, however, he soon recovered himself', and returned to his expedients. "We thought'," said he', we would have a plain dinner to-day'; always' to eat roast turkeys' makes one sick." There was no disputing this broad maxim. But happy would it have been for our ill-fated family', if there had been no sickness among its members, either of the head or heart', but such as is produced by eating roasted turkey.

In our town, at the period of my boyhood', the severity of puritan manners was relaxing into a species of gentility';

and though my father and mother never went to balls and theaters, they were very fond of evening parties', where, after cards and conversation', they closed their enjoyments with an elegant supper. But, Oh, at what an expense on our poor pursé, were these pleasures bought! Once, I remember, to buy my mother's muslin gown, we sold our pig', our only pig-our only hope of animal food through the winter. And mark the malice of mankind, when you are trying to tower over them! The very next week were written by a piece of chalk, on the door of Bob Gill's gristmill', the following lines', where every body could read them. They were the production of some cruel, country wit', whom I could almost have murdered, had I known him.

A pig is raised for food';—it makes you stare
To know that pigs are ever raised to wear;
But madam Oldbug puts her brains to rack',
And wears her pig', transformed', upon her back.

How the writer came to know the fact, I never could guess'; only, hypocrisy in poverty', as well as in religion', is seldom long successful. Sometimes my mother would borrow her shawl at one place', and her tippet at another', and her cap at a third. Often would she come home late at night, on a winter evening', without a spark of fire on the hearth', or wood to kindle it', shivering in her airy dress'; and I have been sent down cellar to pull off the boards from the potato crib', or to bring up an old flour barrel, to light a transient flame', blazing and dying', like the fading joys on which our hearts were set. Sometimes we would pull down one part of the house to warm the other', so that the old mansion was made to perform a double office', yielding uş at once shelter and fuel.

Yet my father, with all his expedients', was a very unpopular man. Though he was always angling for public favor, he never had skill enough to put on the bait so as to conceal the hook', even to the gudgeons that floated in our shallow streams. There was a broken bridge near our habitation', and one year he was plotting and expecting to be surveyor of the highways', that he might mend it for public convenience', at the public expense. He was disappointed'; and old Mr. Slider, his rival and enemy, was put in the office', who suffered the bridge to remain unrepaired', with the ungenerous sarcasm', that a man who lived in such a

shattered house', might well endure to ride over a rotten bridge. There was a militia company', and my father was expecting to be chosen captain', especially as he had been in the revolutionary army', and had actually spoken to Gen. Washington. But at the age of forty-one', they chose him orderly-sergeant'; which office my father refused', declaring, with much spitting and sputtering', that he would never serve his ungrateful country again. Thus closed his military honors'; he was reduced to the necessity of finding the post of virtue in a private station.

LESSON LXXIV.

FEMALE DRESS.

AMONG the many evils which judicious ladies will labor to oppose as far as their influence extends, I ought to mention extravagance and vulgar finery in dress. They will set an example of neatness and modesty in apparel, without approaching to singularity. They will never adopt a ridiculous fashion', nor be backward in adopting what is convenient and becoming. I have often observed that the example of ladies' in this respect, has a great influence on those around them. I have seen domestics imitating the dress of their ladies in every thing but the quality and texture of the materials`, and even Sunday-school children' aping the bows, and feathers, and necklaces, of their teachers.

It very often, however, requires some care and pains to bring young girls into right habits in this respect. In fact, I believe that I have sometimes myself received a hint or two on the subject'; at all events I have gathered a few hints', which, for whomsoever they might originally have been intended', are much at the service of all to whom they may be applicable.

To many young women the love of dress is a great snarè; it leads them into a series of mistakes from beginning to end. In the first placé, they mistake by thinking that fine clothes set off their persons to advantage; whereas, all persons of taste acknowledge that real beauty does not need

the aid of finery', and that ugliness is only displayed and rendered conspicuous by it.

Next', they imagine that fine clothes give them the appearance of belonging to a higher class of society', and prove their introduction to it. No such thing. The real lady is discovered in her education, speech, and manners', which are not so easily imitated'; and is more frequently distinguished by plainness of dress than by finery, which generally bears the stamp of vulgarity.

Another mistake is, that fine clothes will recommend them to the notice of young men', and lead to an advantageous marriage-a very unlikely thing! There are many young men who will admire such a girl as they would a peacock, and play with her as with a doll'; but no sensible, discreet young man would ever think of making her his wife. "No, no," says hè; "give me a wife who does not carry her chief beauty outsidé, and all her wealth on her back. I must see the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit', which is of great price; and the treasures of understanding and discretion', and the fear of God', which are more precious than rubies', and more rare than diamonds."

Another mistake of dressy girls is, they believe that foolish fellows, who flatter them about their beauty and fine appearance, are really sinceré, and mean what they say'; while the truth is, that they in heart despise and ridicule them'; or, if they feel any of the fondness which they profess', it is but a low, selfish passion', to which they will not hesitate to sacrifice their pretty', garnished victim. But, oh, when the silly girl is induced, by the love of finery, to receive presents with which to indulge it', or perhaps to make free with the property of others!-but these are mistakes too dreadful to be entered on here. Alas! by these mistakes thousands are every year brought to ruin and disgracè; and she who thoughtlessly begins with the first and simplest of these mistakes', is in danger of proceeding to the last and grossest.

I recollect a remark which I heard many years ago, and which my own observation has never contradicted', namely, that a dressy girl generally makes an untidy, slatternly wifé, and a negligent mother. I can look round me and see it confirmed in the dirty, blowzy finery of mothers and children', and the untidiness of the dwellings which they inhabit'; and in the remarks of occasional visitors'—"Is it possible that that dirty, untidy slattern' is the once smart,